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Whispering Falls is a simple medieval village, like countless other scattered across Caliban, the multitude of planets, and the innumerable planes. Yes, simple… that's a simple way of putting it. In truth, nothing is simple in Whispering Falls, or any of Neralus for that matter. For most, life goes on as it always had. They rise, they toil at their chosen task, they enjoy a meal with family, they go to bed. Whether they are farmers, craftsmen, innkeeps, or traveling merchants, life goes on as it always has.
Now, there is the First Harvest, but that's been going on for more than 20 years now, so in a way that is how life always has been. Each Neralan owes the finest of th eir product, whatever it may be, to the Kesadrian Empire. For a blacksmith it’s a quota of fine blades and armor, for a farmer it’s the ripest and most bountiful of his crops, for a traveling merchant it could be goods or coin, for an innkeep its keeping rooms reserved for visiting dignitaries.
And of course each settlement also owes its finest young men and women, either to serve in the armies of the empire, or the households of its rulers, as part of the Harvest. Those with aesthetically pleasing qualities are drawn into the high households of ranking arcanocrats. Those with noticeable talents and skills are drafted into specific guilds to be utilized to their full abilities, akin to a tool. Those of strong and hardy stock are conscripted into the military and sent to other sides of the continent, either to quell Rebellion or to face the monsters of the Wild. Those conscripts who show a fondness for fighting their fellow Neralans, and/or a willingness to embrace the Empire are drafted into the Huron Guard, who are later used to police their fellow Neralans. The Huron guard are colloquially known as Gray Scarves, after the gray sash they wear to denote their rank. And thus things have been for over 20 years.
But back to the village of Whispering Falls. All things considered then, the townsfolk of Whispering Falls have had it pretty easy since the beginning of the Occupation. The lack of a military force when the Empire arrived prevented the widespread destruction that occurred elsewhere. The arcanocrat granted control of the region, Baron Vogel, ruled over the logging and fishing community dealt with the first several uprisings with an subtle, even hand, and he worked hard to protect the settlement against the dangers of the wild realms beyond. Baron Vogel has taken counsel from village elders at times, and has been moderate with the application of Harvest during hard seasons.
And so you find yourselves each in the town of Whispering Falls, at the dawn of autumn, on an uncustomarily cool morning…
Lirandra wakes early, smiling to herself at the wisps of condensation that float from her mouth each time she breaths out. Entranced by the curious swirls and eddies in the fog of her breath, it is several minutes before she slips her legs out from beneath the warm winter blanket that covers her and sits upright on her cot. For a moment she sits there, relishing the feeling of the cold tamped earth floor beneath her bare feet, before she gets to her feet, washes in the small basin in the cottage's kitchen and returns to her sleeping place where she dresses quickly in her simple brown skirt and linen shirt, slipping her soft calf-hide boots over thick woollen socks. Moving to the cottage's door she opens it sand stands, momentarily entranced by the play of light on the frost that coats the grass at the edge of the road leading through the town. Coming back to herself she steps outside, carefully closing the door behind herself so as not to wake her sleeping mother and moves around to the simple corral which backs on to the building. Mara the mule, gives a soft whinny as she approaches, moving to the feed bin and shovelling a scoop full of oats into a bucket and then moving over to feed the gentle beast. Job done, she returns inside, stokes the fire and adds a log against the chill, blowing on the embers until a healthy flame licks against the wood. Once again she turns to the door and slips outside, taking up a position on the wooden steps, where she sits and watches as the town slowly, hesitantly comes to life.
Morsun has been awake for a bit, but it's not until he hears activity from some of the family that owns the house he rents a room in that he sits down on the loan stool in his room working on the lock in his lap. He had been recommended to a merchant who wanted his shop's locks changed, and one lock in particular replaced with something "stronger." The shop had recently been burgled, and the merchant was sparing no expense at refortifying his business.
Morsun knew the man who had visited the shop three nights prior. All the locked doors in the city wouldn't prevent a similar invasion via a window with a gap loose enough to jimmy the latch through. As he installed the final tumbler in the lock his lap with a few gentle taps of a small hammer, Morsun wondered if it would look suspicious if he recommended better security on the windows.
He mulled it over as he placed the finished lock in his pack and slipped out to buy some breakfast before heading to the merchant's shop, aiming to be there by the time it opened.
Lucatiel is herself this morning. She road along next to her uncle into the city of Whispering Falls. Her parents and her brother road in the wagon ahead of them and several other families road along behind them. It was the closest city they could bring their First Harvest. No longer did the Kesadrians come for their crop. Now they were bringing it to them and told to be thankful that was all they asked of them. When she was younger, she didn't have any of the qualities the Kesadrians desired in a worker. She was small, scrawny, unattractive and a klutz. This was a calculated look that many other families attempted so their children wouldn't be taken away. This year, her brother was old enough for the harvest. They'd had him practice at being stupid and talent-less. Hopefully it was enough. If not, well, Abigail was pulling the wagon and her weapons and armor were covered by canvas in the back. The Kesadrians would not have it their way today.
Tevan woke to the warm embrace of Mya, filling her with the energy she would need to channel over the course of the day. She stretched and sat up in the small cot-like bed to begin her morning meditations.
An hour later, her meditations complete, Tevan went to the fireplace, added wood to the glowing embers, put the kettle on the cooking hook, and moved it over the growing fire. That done, she moved over to the washbasin, filled it with ice cold water from the pitcher next to it, and began her morning grooming ritual. She washed herself from head to toe, lathered soap in a cup and applied it to her head and shaved the morning’s stubble. She always had to brace herself for the last part of her morning ritual, when she poured the remaining water from the pitcher over her head and into the basin.
Shivering, she dried herself off and began dressing in the clean clothing she had laid out on the clothing/armor stand. The kettle came to a boil as she finished wrapping the light blue sash around the waist of the lamellar chest piece.
She poured the hot water over the tea leaves in the tea pot and finished dressing while it steeped. She donned her cleric robes over the armor, pulled her holy symbol out from under her clothing so that is was displayed, and buckled her belt. She put a spoonful of honey in her tea cup and poured the tea over it, then stirred the honey into the tea.
When she finished her second cup, she cleaned the little one room cottage, grabbed her gear (backpack, cloak, shield, staff, etc.), stepped out into the crisp autumn air, and began her morning walk into the village of Whispering Falls to break her fast at the local Inn.
The morning were the worst. Never a morning person to begin with, the two vicious wounds she had sustained in her side and along her face made the mornings far harder. The pain was so much it that she felt paralyzed for a moment.
Still, she's awake. The sun is up and the promise of a new day is before her.
Oww... ow ow ow. It's still morning, right? Right. Sun is low. Okay.
Fumbling around, she snatches an old comb from her pack and a cloth, cleaning herself up a little.
Doesn't matter. I'm hideous now. Shut up Ashe, pull yourself together. This isn't about you.
After allowing herself her moment of self-pity, Ashe very carefully draws her extremely illegal rapier before painstakingly honing and polishing it. Once done, she dresses, straps on her battered old armour, straps the rapier to her back, and then layers it over with an old tunic and a cloak to hide the weapon.
Plans for the day... heal, don't get caught. Death to Kesadria.
Grabbing her pack, Ashe makes her way gingerly down the stairs of the inn she's staying at. As she moves, it gets easier and easier. By the time she's burst into the outdoors, the pain has faded, and it's time to head to the market for a hot pie for breakfast.
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Years of experience at officer cadet school meant Blake woke up early, shortly before reveille. The discipline instilled in him as an officer meant that he came awake instantly, rolling out of his bed and onto his feet in a fluid motion, his hand snaking out to where his dress uniform was hung, at regulation height and distance from his bed. As usual, the corporal had neglected to send him a batman, but he hardly needed one. He knew the family would have left a little something for him as instructed - they were quite cowed at the thought of a Kesadrian Mageocrat in their Inn, even if he was only a minor one.
Must remember to thank them for their hospitality. Even if they are obliged by Kesadrian Law to provide. He thought to himself. He had arrived quite late the night before with orders to take command of the troops stationed in the village to protect the logging camp. Officers Billets were in the local Inn, at the Innkeepers expense as per Regs, but that didn't mean he had to make an ass of himself. He was quite firm about his intent to keep his quartering to the regulation room and board - no free drinks or lavish feasts at the Inkeepers expense.
There has been quite enough of that sort of thing. Necessary provisions only,
He thought determinedly.
Quickly finishing with his dressing, Blake set off toward the kitchen to find the breakfast laid out for him before the Innkeeper went to bed. Cold breakfast wasn't ideal, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He knew he'd have to eat on the way to the men's billets, and he meant to be there early t make sure they carried themselves with the aplomb expected of a Kesadrian soldier. Grabbing the food laid out for him, he headed for the door.